About Me

I love cooking when the sky looks as if it will explode on a rainy day, shopping organic hours before and taking all the goodies and cutting them up and stir frying them to make a delicious dinner. I love dancing around to Led Zeppelin, and feeling that I was born in the wrong generation. I love reading outside during the soft cool weather, but don’t mind when the city is scorching with the sun beating down on the pavement. I love scouring thrift stories to find the clothes that represent my personality. I love eating at vegetarian and vegan restaurants. Watching independent films no one else has seen yet. I love when my plane finally lands and I’m at my new travel destination. I love old cameras, the way they feel and smell and how the film just clicks together.

Thursday, August 20, 2009

tell mr campbel madison square garden is dead

It could be that the August heat is getting to me, my mind wandering off in directions that appear a bit insane or simply wild. I wasn’t surprised when I decided late at night that I would meet an old friend for a drink. I have to get out of my head sometimes, break the vicious cycle of thinking about both these women so constantly. I can feel the bubbling of an eruption about to ignite - and when I feel this it is only a matter of a time before I burst open. The seams breaking to unleash a pile of muted flesh, and a sliver of a broken heart. It is at these times I know I am at my strongest and weakest. Alcohol can either help, or make the madness worse. Once again I feel ignored, as if I am some repelling creature that has no contemplation in her mind, in both their minds. How can I waste my time caring so much for women who so obviously do not deserve a single thought in my head or heart?

Once Jae and I speed closer to a shared intimacy, one where our childhoods are brought up as if we are old and trusted friends she always backs off. I am reliving the moments of when I finally told Christi I loved her after years of her pursuit. It is the fact that rejection seems so evident here, the pure unadulterated ignorance that rips me up inside. I can stand for more, anything other than this would do - would be understandable but when she connects with me and slithers off once again only proving that our intimacy must be of a false nature when it does happen for how does she abandon it so quickly? I even told her about my father this week, a story I save for close and trusted friends, and she became angry expressing that he didn’t even deserve to have me in his life - to hear me laugh. How can someone feel so openly aware of caring for me yet abandon me just when the connection begins to peak again. I know in my heart this is a test for me, that she is not worth it. What does she have to offer me that keeps me from abandoning her myself? Yet the anger and frustration broke last night and I picked up my purse, grabbed the keys to my second home and hopped on the subway declaring that for the evening I would forget.

On Sunday I feel rather pathetic when I run into her outside of this summer lesbian party, where she always is apparently in the same black tee shirt and jeans. I remind her later that I have shirts waiting for her, but these things don’t matter so much as I have no intention of meeting up with her so she can have these items I bought her. She barely acknowledges me, which isn’t uncommon for her. Her mood swings run rampant and grossly. Later I tell a friend I wish I could erase her, and I get drunk when I notice she is only feet away from me. Why is this community so tight, so full of the same women everywhere? As soon as the second shot of gin washes down I am full of temptation. Does she care for me at all? I don’t catch her glancing at me once, and I know it is her mere snub of me that hurts the most. If I knew in some respect that I mattered I probably would not care so much. I disgust myself when I stalk her to the bar, and catch her while she walks through the dance floor. Her friends must think I am an obsessive child, after their friend like some sort of vulture but she made this all possible - had she not given me slivers of hope I would have dismissed her with the flick of a hand.